


Ink

by AccidentalAvenger



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Grantaire has a lot, M/M, Needles, Tattoo Artist Grantaire, loads of tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:58:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentalAvenger/pseuds/AccidentalAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is terrified of needles. Grantaire is a tattoo artist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Written because of a prompt on tumblr. Pretty much just me going on about my headcanons for Grantaire's tattoos.

To say Enjolras was nervous about getting a tattoo was an understatement. It wasn’t the tattoo bit that made him nervous - Enjolras was as sure about the tattoo as he was about everything else. It was the getting it part. Specifically the needles.

Enjolras hated needles with a passion. Why anyone would willingly let someone stab a sharp, thin piece of metal into their veins was beyond him. At college drugs had never even been an option for him and he would do anything to avoid injections; much to the despair of Joly.

So when he had announced his desire to get a tattoo to his friends they had stared at him incredulously. 

“You do realise it involves needled, right?” Courfeyrac had said cautiously.  
“Of course - it’s not like I’m scared of needles,” Enjolras had scoffed. His friends were not convinced.  
"The first time you tried to give blood you passed out when you saw how they did it," Feuilly pointed out.  
“Then you tried again and the woman refused to take it because you looked so pale and shaky,” Bossuet continued.  
“You’ve had various flu viruses three times because you refuse the injection every year,” Combeferre added dryly.  
“I had to sedate you when I had to take a blood test,” Joly offered and Enjolras glowered.

"Fine. I don’t like needles," he admitted and Bahorel laughed.  
“Understatement of the century,” he muttered and Enjolras turned the full force of his glare to him.  
“But,” he had said coldly, “I will deal my - discomfort - and get the tattoo. It’s important to me.”

———

Jehan had recommended the tattoo artist. He was a friend of Jehan, Joly and Bossuet apparently. Bossuet had proudly shown Enjolras the eagle on his back which this Grantaire had apparently designed and inked. Enjolras had to admit that it was gorgeous; spreading it’s gold wings across Bossuet’s back. Jehan had pulled off their shirt and showed Enjolras the multitude of neat quotes and patches of colour which patterned his skin and told him that Grantaire was as gentle as he was talented. It didn’t do much to reassure Enjolras.

When he reached the day of his appointment Enjolras was almost tempted to take up Joly’s offer of self-medicating himself for the duration of the session but his pride didn’t allow it. His friends wished him luck via text although most seemed to doubt that he would actually get the tattoo.

The parlour itself didn’t help with it’s darkness and fog of cigarette smoke. Enjolras arrived fifteen minutes early, too nervous to wait at home. A bored looking girl with dark hair took his name and told him to wait on one of the many old looking chairs. Enjolras sat tentatively on one, not quite sure if it would take his weight. Enjolras held on to it, knuckles white, willing himself not to walk out.

Finally, almost quarter of an hour later than his appointment was supposed to be, a scruffy man with wild, dark hair tucked into a beanie stuck his head round a battered door.  
“I’ve got an Enjolras up now so I’m assuming that’s you Apollo,” he had said, pointing at Enjolras who stood up too-quickly, knocking the chair over. The girl at the front desk sniggered. “Be nice, ‘Ponine,” chided the man - Grantaire, Enjolras assumed. He turned to Enjolras, “Sorry she can be a bit of a bitch sometimes. Come this way.” Enjolras uncharacteristically followed in silence.

"It’s not like you can talk, you drunk bastard," the girl called after them. Grantaire gave a short laugh as they entered the dingy room.  
“Don’t worry,” he told Enjolras, “I’m not currently drunk. Though the bastard thing I can’t help. I’m R by the way.” He winked at Enjolras who laughed nervously.  
“R - Grantaire,” he said, “Funny.” 

Grantaire stared blankly at him for a moment, hazel eyes suprised, before realisation dawned on his face. “Oh! You must be Jehan’s friend,” he exclaimed and Enjolras nodded, “They told me you were revolutionary. They didn’t tell me you were gorgeous Apollo.”  
Enjolras flushed at the blatant flirtation. “That isn’t my name.”  
“Course not,” said R with a crooked grin, “It’s Enjolras. So apparently you’re scared of needles?”  
“No!” exclaimed Enjolras, annoyed at his friends.  
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say Apollo, but in my experience people who react like that usually don’t like needles. If you could sit over there,” Grantaire gestured towards the chair in the middle of the room. It looked like a dentist’s chair and Enjolras felt sick as he tentatively lowered himself into it.

"So, you got a design in mind?" asked Grantaire, wandering over, something in his hand that Enjolras refused to let himself look at. He nodded, swallowing hard and handing over the piece of paper. Grantaire read it and his eyebrows raised.  
“There is nothing like a dream to create the future?” He read doubtfully. Enjolras felt defensive. “It’s a quote,” he explained, “By Victor Hugo.”  
“I know the guy,” R said with a laugh and pushed up his tattered right sleeve to reveal a tattoo covering his forearm; a splash of water colours spreading down from under his sleeve, fading to grey, white and black around his wrist where words encircled his wrist like a bracelet. Enjolras leant in to read them, holding Grantaire’s wrist gently in place. He almost forgot about his nervousness in his curiosity. 

“To think of shadows is a serious thing,” he read, tilting his head, “What does that mean?”  
“God knows,” said Grantaire pulling his arm away quickly and pushing his sleeve down, “It sounds good though.” Enjolras got the feeling he was lying but didn’t push it.  
"So - ignoring the ridiculous optimism of your quote - where do you want it?" asked Grantaire, pulling a sharpie from behind his multiple-pierced ear.  
“Uh - the side of my rib cage?” Enjolras said, his nervousness returning and making him queasy.  
“Okay. If you can take your top off then I can start writing it,” Grantaire told him casually. Enjolras stared blankly at the artist. “You need to take your top off,” Grantaire repeated, raising an eyebrow, “I can’t tattoo you through your t-shirt. Jehan did say you were clever?” Enjolras glowered at him and pulled his top off, dropping the red t-shirt on the floor.

"Do you want it in the same handwriting as the note?" Grantaire asked and Enjolras nodded. He felt Grantaire kneel beside him and and the tip of the sharpie pressed into his side.  
“All in black?” the dark haired man asked. Enjolras hesitated and Grantaire continued speaking, “I think it would look pretty good with either dream or future in red. Nice contrast.”  
“Uh yeah, okay,” said Enjolras uncertainly.  
“You don’t sound sure,” Grantaire commented sarcastically, pulling a red sharpie out of his pocket, “Tattoos are permanent, remember.”  
“I know that,” Enjolras said irritably. The needles hadn’t even come out yet and already Grantaire was getting under his skin. At the thought of needles he stiffened.  
“Stay still,” exclaimed Grantaire, pressing a warm hand to Enjolras rib cage to steady him. Enjolras wondered if the man could feel his heart beat a bit faster in embarrassment.

"So why this quote?" asked Grantaire as he carefully copied the note, "And why the terrible handwriting?"  
“It’s from a letter,” Enjolras explained, “My mentor - Professor Lemarque died a few weeks ago and she wrote me a letter when I was in hospital. That was the last quote in it.” Grantaire nodded.  
“Thought it might be from your mum - a lot of people get notes from their mum tattooed,” he commented, drawing back and examining his handiwork, holding the note up to compare it.  
“She was as good as,” muttered Enjolras, “Better than mine.”  
“I know what you mean,” agreed Grantaire bitterly, reaching for a mirror and holding it up to show Enjolras what he had written, “What do you think?”

It almost looked like Lemarque herself had written on Enjolras side. The words ‘dream’ and ‘future’ were in red and Enjolras had to admit that Grantaire had been right. It did look good. He nodded, feeling sadness swell in his throat.  
“It’s good - I like it,” he choked out and Grantaire smiled, wiping over it with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol.  
“Good. You ready to start?” he asked as he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and Enjolras’ eyes widened in horror. Grantaire frowned. “You look really pale,” he pointed out, “Are you sure you don’t want water or something?”  
“I’m fine,” invited Enjolras through gritted teeth.  
Grantaire shrugged, “If you’re sure.”

Enjolras closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing which was definitely faster than usual. He heard a buzz and felt Grantaire move closer. He couldn’t help but let out a whimper. The buzzing stopped and he tentatively opened his eyes to see Grantaire staring at him, lips pursed.  
“I’m not doing this unless you’re sure,” Grantaire told him again.  
“I’m sure. I have to get this tattoo,” Enjolras told him but he was shaking. Grantaire raised an eyebrow and then paused.  
“Okay - I have an idea,” he said, carefully putting the tattoo needle down. Enjolras frowned, not sure what Grantaire was trying to do when the other man pulled off his shirt in one fluid movement.

Enjolras stared; partially suprised at Grantaire’s sudden desire to strip but partially entranced by Grantaire’s many, many tattoos. And muscles, though Enjolras was trying not to think about those. Grantaire picked up the needle again and Enjolras barely noticed. 

“You see - you’ve been tense the whole time you’ve been in here except when I showed you my tattoo. So while I ink you up you can have a look at mine and ask questions,” Grantaire explained and Enjolras nodded, still peering at the patterns and colours that covered Grantaire’s chest and arms. The colours on his right forearm started at him bicep where the word ‘Wild’ was written and then melted away and ran down his arm. His other arm was covered with a sleeve tattoo showing bunches of purple, red and green grapes connected with vines.

The needle began buzzing again. Grantaire gave a short laugh. “You must have a thing for tattoos,” he stated as he knelt beside Enjolras again. Enjolras flushed and looked away. “Hey it’s fine,” Grantaire said, noticing Enjolras’ embarrassment, “Go ahead and feast your eyes. This might hurt.”  
It did hurt. Enjolras whimpered and clutched the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white.  
“Hey, hey. You’re okay,” murmured Grantaire gently, “Come on. Look at me and keep still.” Enjolras took a deep breath and turned his head back to Grantaire who had the tip of the tongue sticking out of his lips as he concentrated. The intensity of his stare made Enjolras feel a bit breathless, though he told himself that it was the pain.

"What does the tattoo on your chest say?" he asked quickly, trying not to focus on the needle he couldn’t see digging into his side. Grantaire chuckled. "It says ‘tough times don’t last but tough people do," he told Enjolras, "My grandmother used to say it to me." Enjolras nodded but was feeling slightly nauseous.  
“Is it safe for you to be chatting while you’re doing that?” he asked, stiffening as the realisation hit him. His stomach did a somersault.  
“Relax, okay,” Grantaire said, pulling away from Enjolras. He put his gloved hand on Enjolras’ stomach to stop him moving which did nothing at all to help Enjolras’ nervousness. In fact, his stomach was filled with more butterflies than before.  
“It’s perfectly safe. I’m the professional,” Grantaire said, removing his hand. Enjolras noticed the shaky looking Rebus on his wrist. It didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the artwork that covered him.

"What’s that one on your wrist?" Enjolras asked, forcing himself to relax.  
“The R?” Grantaire seemed surprised Enjolras had noticed, “That was my first tattoo ever. Sixteen - did it myself.” Enjolras stared at Grantaire in horror.  
“Yes - it was painful,” Grantaire continued, answering Enjolras’ silent question, “My father nearly killed me. The next one I got when I was eighteen; it’s a solar system running along my spine. I’ll show it to you in a minute. I started the sleeves a year after that. Took me three years to save up for all of them. The ‘wild’ is pretty self-explanatory as well as pretty.” Enjolras hummed in agreement. “I drink a lot - mostly wine - so I decided to get the vines. Also a nod to my French heritage; my grandma was from the South of France. One hip has a feather on - a nightingale. My other hip has roses on - my little sister was called Rosie- hey hold still!”

Enjolras slipped back into the chair, realising he had been craning round to get a better look at what Grantaire had been talking about. His side ached like hell.  
“Sorry,” he muttered.  
“No problem,” Grantaire said, rocking back on his heels, “Okay. Done the black. I’ll just get some red ink for the last couple of words.  
Enjolras stared at Grantaire’s back as he went to get more ink. A vivid yellow and orange sun was tattooed at the top of his neck and the rest of the planets ran right down his spine, joined by a black line. Enjolras could just about see the top of Pluto above his trousers, sitting low on his back. Enjolras flushed as he imagined pushing the low hanging jeans down further. Enjolras quickly turned his attention to the small black barcode tattoo which sat on the right. As Enjolras peered at it he noticed that the lines looked ripped and torn.

Grantaire came back and Enjolras once again felt the dread crawling up his throat.  
“What are the meanings of the tattoos on your back?” he asked quickly, trying to distract himself from the ominous buzzing of the needle.  
“Well the solar system just looks cool,” Grantaire explained as he knelt beside Enjolras for the last time, “Also I get to make lots of puns about carrying the whole world on my back.” Enjolras snorted appreciatively and he saw Grantaire smile out of the corner of his eye.

"And the barcode?" Enjolras prompted. The smile faded from Grantaire’s face and the room felt a little darker than before.  
“It’s broken - like me,” Grantaire said shortly. His tone quite clearly said he didn’t want to talk about that one anymore.  
"Are you planning on getting anymore?" Enjolras asked, trying to distract himself from the pain in his side. Grantaire’s eyes lit up as he spoke, "I want to get the night sky across my shoulders. You know - stars, planets, maybe a satellite. I’ve got a lot of acne scars there so I’m hoping to figure out a way to turn them into something beautiful."  
“I’m sure it will be beautiful,” agreed Enjolras quietly. Grantaire flushed and stood up. “Your tattoo is finished,” he said quickly. Enjolras craned his head to get a look but all he saw was a lot of red skin and a few unreadable black lines.

"You need to wait for it to heal," explained Grantaire, noticing Enjolras’ disappointment, "the bandage will have to stay on for a couple of days - after I anti-bac it."  
Enjolras let Grantaire apply some more anti-bac even though it stung like hell. The bandage was applied and Enjolras listened closely as Grantaire explained how to properly look after a tattoo.

He pulled his t-shirt back in, trying not to brush the sore side and Grantaire handed him a sheet with instructions and tips on. He tried not to feel disappointed that he wouldn’t be seeing Grantaire again.  
“That’s got everything I just went through, plus the number of the tattoo parlour if you have any questions,” Grantaire said flatly. He paused for a moment before taking the paper and scribbling something on it in sharpie.  
“What’s that?” Enjolras asked as Grantaire folded the sheet and gave it back.  
“My personal number,” Grantaire said with a wink, “For if you ever want to talk about tattoos. I have a lot more I could show you - if you know what I mean.”


End file.
